


In these shoes?

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Boners, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Boot polishing, Cock Worship, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Dom/sub Play, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Jeans, Kinky, Licking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Military Kink, Smut, Voice Kink, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16510664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: Seeing Locus' boots by the door every day, is a comforting reminder to Wash that life goes on and that someone would notice if he didn't leave the apartment for weeks at a time. But his interest might go a little further than just reassurance. It would be easier if he didn't have it bad for his roommate.Post-military AU.





	In these shoes?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to pippen2112 for Betaing!!

Locus keeps his boots, heavy black leather combat boots, next to the door, at a precise ninety degree angle to the wall. It’s ridiculously anal and very reassuring because Wash still does the same thing, even if he’s switched to wearing trainers more often than not. They’re still there, perfectly aligned next to the door because some habits don’t break easily.

Seeing the boots there every day is a neat reminder that there’s also milk in the fridge and laundry being done and that someone would notice if he stopped eating and opening the curtains and leaving the flat at some point before his friends needed to physically drag him outside and stage an intervention.

It’s stupid to pin so much on a pair of boots and a roommate who is at least as fucked up as he is, but Wash will take what he can get while he waits for the wheels to turn on getting referred to a therapist through this colony’s health system. 

He’s blaming their touchstone status for the way they draw his attention when Locus enters the lounge that afternoon. The boots are cradled against his chest in one arm, newspaper and a rag held in the other. He goes to sit down in the armchair and sets the boots on the ground in front of him. 

“Are you going out?” Wash asks, giving him a curious look.

“Hm? Yes. How did you know?” Locus replies. He picks up the boot brush, and one of the boots and starts to scuff away the dust. There’s not much, but he’s a bit of a perfectionist and it was the tiniest specks that got you dragged up by your sergeant in basic.

“You usually clean them on Sunday,” Wash says without thinking. “It’s Thursday.” He closes his mouth and suppresses the urge to groan. That’s a weird thing to know, right? Routine is one thing, but keeping track of what days his housemate cleans his boots is… it’s weird.

Locus blinks, and then smiles, a soft laugh escaping him. “I suppose I am rather predictable.” He sets that boot down, and picks up the other. “There’s an event on campus. A film screening I thought that I’d go to.” He twists the boot around on his hand to get at the heel. “You'd be welcome to join me if you wish.”

Right, and be the awkward hanger on when Locus met his friends. “I’m fine,” Wash says. “Got a lot of reading to do.”

“Ah. Of course.”

It’s said mildly, accepting, and Wash feels somehow like he’s disappointed Locus immensely. Fuck. He doesn’t want to do that. Disappointing people never leads to anything good. Means they’ll leave or that he’ll have to leave and he doesn’t- doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

He bites down a gulp of air and releases it slowly, counting to ten. Lets those thoughts drift away. Hell, he really needs to contact the office about that therapy appointment.

He turns his attention back to his reading. Engineering. He’d picked up a bit in the service, enough to know that he was good at it and enjoyed it, and it would be nice to build something for once, instead of watching things burn. 

He gets through three paragraphs before his gaze is drawn inexorably back to Locus. To Locus’ hands. To the way they hold the cleaning rag and smear polish over the already shiny leather of his boots. He has good hands. Strong dexterous fingers and neat nails. He usually hides them in gloves outside the apartment, because hey, they’ve all got their hang-ups, but Wash gets to see them and probably enjoys it a bit too much.

Wash has it bad. 

He tries to force his eyes back to the text. It’s not boring. It’s actually pretty engaging stuff on a normal day. But he can still see Locus out of the corner of his eye, his hands rubbing the boot polish in slow circles around the heel, massaging it into the leather until it’s a uniform inky black and he remembers the scent of boot polish in the barracks, the military shine of a dress uniform and-

“Am I bothering you?”

Locus’ voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and when he tears them away from the boots he finds that Locus is watching him, his hands stilled. 

“Um-“ he manages to get out. His mouth is dry.

“You were staring,” Locus says. “If I’m bothering you, I can go somewhere else.”

“No!” The word comes out too quickly, too vehemently, his brain translating those words less to ‘I can move to the kitchen’ and more to ‘I will move out’.

Locus blinks and Wash, grinds his teeth and shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. I was just thinking.”

He turns away, tablet raised like a shield in front of his face. He just needs to focus on important things and not Locus’ fingers caressing the leather like its a lover, and that leads his brain all sorts of places it really should not be going. 

Even with a firm mental admonishment, he finds his gaze creeping back that way. Watches Locus cup the heel of the boot and imagines how those hands would feel in his hair, pressing his head down against the leather, the smell of it, slick against his skin.

Fuck. Wash shifts on the couch, trying to surreptitiously readjust the front of his jeans. It just makes it worse. Great, just great. Why does his life hate him? He draws one knee up to hide the bulge that must be pretty obvious now and tries to burn holes through his tablet with his eyes. If he concentrates hard enough, maybe he can will it away. Or maybe the sofa will swallow him up. He can hope.

“Washington…”

He glances over. They lock eyes, and then Locus’ gaze trips down his body to his poorly concealed erection. He knows.

The tablet clatters onto the coffee table, and Wash trips over his feet in his haste to stand up. “I have to go.”

Locus reaches towards him, fingers brushing against his sleeve, but Wash pulls away, mortification curdling in his stomach. He bangs his leg against the arm of the couch and curses under his breath, but his bedroom door is so close and-

“Wait!”

It’s the goddamn tone of his voice that does it, and fuck him for pulling off that officer tone, the one that demands instant obedience, and Wash hasn’t been out of the service long enough for that reaction to wear off yet. He freezes near the door. When he glances back, Locus is on his feet, brow furrowed in confusion. Wash can’t even get angry when he looks like that.

“Have a good time at the movie,” Wash says, sharper than he’d intended, and he’s sure that the smile he forces is sickly.

“We need to talk.”

Oh god, that’s such a cliche. For a moment, it eclipses the embarrassment, and Wash just stares. Locus’ eyes go wide, his forehead creasing, and he’s obviously realised it too, how that sounds. Like they’re in some shit movie. But when he meets Wash’s eyes again, his expression is calculating.

“I need to go,” Wash repeats. He doesn’t sound half as decisive as he wants to.

“I am not… uncomfortable,” Locus says, and then adds hurriedly “with you.”

“Then let’s just forget it,” Wash says. As if there’s a chance of that. Ten years from now he’ll still be kept awake reliving the time he got a stiffy from watching his roommate clean his boots. 

Locus takes a deep breath, looks like he’s going to say something else. Then he deflates and nods. “Of course. Consider it forgotten.”

He hadn’t expected it to be that easy, and it makes his stomach sink, a sick mixture of relief and… and disappointment, which he shoves down as far as he can because he is not doing this. Not when he might just be able to salvage the solid relationship they have as roommates. 

“Great,” he says, “enjoy the movie.”

He slips into his room and closes the door behind himself, then slides down it to sit on the floor. 

Fuck.

——————

Even though he knows that it would take more than one day to find a new apartment and move out, Wash still feels a lurch when he gets up the next morning and Locus is there. He hovers in the doorway of the kitchen, and watches Locus move around. When Wash glances over his shoulder, the boots are there next to the door, and he feels something that had been off-centre settle inside him.

“Pass me the milk,” Locus says, and Wash’s attention snaps to him. The tone brooks no argument, and Wash has the bottle out of the fridge before he even thinks about it. He holds it out towards Locus. His hands, those beautiful fingers, close around the bottle and Wash’s fingers with it. 

Wash tries to let go, but Locus’ grip tightens. He’s watching Wash intently, like he’s searching for something, and Wash has no idea what it is. 

Locus loosens his hold, and Wash slips his fingers away from the bottle. Locus turns away, back to making his coffee, and maybe Wash was imagining things. Reading too much into stuff. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“How was the film?” he asks, because anything is better than his roiling thoughts. Maybe he can act like things are normal, and eventually Locus will forget what happened. Wash is never going to, of course, but he’ll take what he can get.

“It was entertaining,” Locus replies. He turns around and a moment later sets down a steaming mug of coffee onto the kitchen table in front of Wash. It’s black as sin and smells like heaven. Wash gives a grateful smile.

“Don’t get too enthusiastic there,” Wash says.

Locus leans against the countertop, his own mug clasped in his hands. He’s wearing sweatpants that cling to his hips and thighs and fuck, this isn’t fair. He forces himself to focus on his face instead, but that’s not really better. Might be worse when Locus’ attention is intent on him. 

“It was a good film,” Locus says. “I think you would have enjoyed it.”

After what had happened yesterday? “Maybe next time.”

“Next time then.”

——————

 

The boots hit the living room floor with a thump, startling Wash away from the page of equations he’s attempting to understand. Locus settles into the chair, dropping the polish and newspaper and cloths onto the ground next to them. 

“Are you going out again?” Wash asks. It’s Thursday again, and Locus had polished them on Sunday like normal while Wash hid in his room like a coward and jerked off thinking about it, so there must be something going on.

“I’m considering it.” 

He picks up the brush and starts to brush away the non-existent specks of dirt. His boots already look pristine. Wash’s attention lingers on the deft motions of his hands, on the spread of his legs, and he doesn’t notice immediately that Locus’ attention is fully on him.

His breath speeds up, heart a heavy thump in his chest, and his mouth dry. One thing to be caught in a moment of weakness, and another to have someone watching out for it. 

He rests his hands on the couch to push himself to his feet. Maybe he should get a coffee maker in his bedroom if he’s gonna spend this much time hiding in there.

“Wait.” 

His treacherous body stops, breath catching in his throat. 

“I thought so.” Locus’ voice is low and… not mocking, that’s something at least. It also sends heat straight to his groin, a thousand filthy thoughts running through his mind. 

“Look,” Wash begins, “we can just forget this. I won’t-“

“I’m not angry,” Locus says. “You’re not going to drive me away.”

Wash’s throat feels tight, breathing hard to draw. “Great,” he manages to rasp out, “still pretty embarrassing if I get a hard-on every time you clean your fucking boots.”

There, it’s out there now, right in front of them, impossible to ignore.

Locus tilts his head to the side, like a cat watching prey. “Is it?” he asks, as though it’s just an interesting puzzle, and not Wash’s entire being trying to betray him. “It doesn’t have to be.”

What? 

Wash’s mouth is half open to reply, but Locus continues before he can say anything. 

“I don’t think that’s even what’s going on.” He glances down at the boots and then laughs, a warm, throaty sound, and if Wash hadn’t been so fucked before, he is now. _Why does he sound so good?_ “Or not entirely anyway.”

Wash folds his arms across his chest. “What the fuck is going on then?” Because he sure as fuck doesn’t have a clue.

“Pass me the boot polish,” Locus says, and fuck, that voice is back, and Wash wants to melt into it. He holds firm though, ignoring the part of his brain that want to obey, wants to do what Locus tells him, even if it’s just handing him a tin of boot polish.

Even if he doesn’t do it though, Locus must see the way that he shifts position, spine straightening like he’s in front of an officer. “It’s not something shameful,” Locus says. He sounds very earnest, and he leans forward in his seat. “They train us like dogs. You have to find a way to cope with that when you leave. Some people can compartmentalise, or repress. Some people stop functioning. Other people... those feelings have to go somewhere. Some people channel it into violence. For some people it goes... elsewhere.”

He swallows, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat, iinfluenced no doubt by the way Locus’ gaze fixes on his groin for a long moment. “And for you?”

Silence drags out. Wash can barely breathe.

“Pass me the boot polish, Washington.”

The moment snaps, a taut wire released, and Wash goes with it. He stoops to pick up the tin of polish and holds it out mutely towards Locus. Locus looks at him, and then his gaze flicks towards the ground at his feet next to the boots. 

It’s not an order, not quite. Not yet. Wash could walk away from this, and he believes that Locus would never mention this again. They’d go on being roommates, casual friends, and eventually they’d drift apart and move on with their lives. Maybe they still will. But oh, Wash wants to find out what the alternative is. 

He sinks slowly to his knees on the carpet and looks up at Locus. He looks bigger from down here; an impressive feat when he’s already got a good couple of inches on Wash, with the chest to match. He’s imposing at the best of times, and right now that makes Wash’s cock throb.

One of Locus’ large hands comes down to rest heavily against Wash’s head. “You can tell me to stop. Just tell me, and we won’t go any further.”

It’s an out. Wash appreciates that, but he’s always been terrible at backing down.

When he doesn’t say no, doesn’t pull away from the weight against his head, Locus presses down. “My boots need cleaning. Get to it.” 

He hesitates for a moment, glancing towards the cleaning rag on the ground next to Locus’ foot, but something tells him that isn’t quite right. Isn’t enough. He looks back at the boots. They’re meticulously clean, but dull from the brushing. Dull boots just won’t do.

He takes his cue from the way Locus pressed down on his head. He bends down, further, further, until his lips touch to the toe of Locus’ boot. He hears a soft hitch of breath from above but ignores it as he presses a kiss against the leather.

Oh god, it’s better than he’d imagined. The leather is smooth and supple beneath his lips, well cared for, not that he’d expect anything less from Locus. The rich scent of it fills his nose. Memories of boot camp dredge themselves up from the depths of his brain; perfectly polished boots next to beds for inspection, jerking off furtively in his bunk and praying no-one would hear.

He clenches his thighs together, feeling the press of his cock hardening between his legs, and then flicks his tongue out against the boot. The tang of the leather, of old polish and dust hits his mouth. His eyes drop closed, and he licks a stripe up from the toe of Locus’ boot until he feels the rough of the laces. He feels Locus shifting, and then the hand is back against his head, stroking his hair. There’s a scrape of fingernails against his scalp that sends a shiver right through him, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He tilts his head and drags his tongue along the instep side of the boot, curls his tongue around the heel; he realises with a jolt of lightning to his groin, how this positions him. Head between Locus’ legs, shoulders nudging them apart. His breath speeds up. All it would take was for him to lean up, raise his head…

He turns his head to press a reverent kiss against the heel of the other boot. The hand in his hair tightens, and he’s dragged up until he has to rise on his knees to look at Locus. The feeling of his hair being pulled sparks through his skull and his brain and oh- he didn’t realise that was a thing, but he likes it. It drags his breath from him in soft little gasps as Locus scrutinises his face. Wash has no idea what he’s looking for, but he hopes that Locus finds it. 

“Do you want more?” Locus asks. His voice, it’s different. Deeper, lower, thick and warm in a way that sinks into Wash’s stomach and fills him up. He wants to be buried in that voice.

He tries to nod, but that pulls at his hair and sends more of those firework sensations through him. All that he can manage is a moan. Fuck, what is happening to him?

A smile curls Locus’ lips. “I want to kiss you now. Is that alright?”

The grip in his hair doesn’t loosen, and Wash’s breath tangles in his throat as he tries to reply, until he eventually manages to force out an emphatic “yes.”

That’s all it takes, that’s all, and then Locus’ lips are against his. It’s embarrassing how quickly he melts into it, drinking down the feeling like it’s the last breath he’ll ever draw. And it’s slow; that’s what hits him first. It’s not a hurried jumble of lips and teeth and tongue and trying to figure out how they fit together because they might die tomorrow. Locus takes his time, teasing at the crease of Wash’s mouth, hand in his hair gentling into a careful stroke over his scalp. And after that first rush of pure uncorked need, Wash relaxes into it, lips parting, breath against breath, Locus’ hand sliding down to cup his cheek and hold him still.

Fuck, it really has been a long time if he’s this focussed on a kiss. Or maybe Locus is just that good. Both seem plausible when his mind is lighting up with each second that passes, the heat of Locus’ lips spreading through his mouth.

When they part, it takes a great effort for him to not just collapse against Locus. It’s like the kiss has made him greedy, wanting more of Locus’ skin against his, he’s hungry for it. He leans in for another kiss only for Locus’ fingers to tighten in his hair once more, forcing him back. The air in his throat solidifies into choking lust. 

“Do you think that you’ve finished?” Locus asks, and oh fuck, that voice is back. His hips jerk, seeking relief but finding only empty air.

“No…?” Wash says, not caring if it’s the right answer or the wrong one. Either way it has to get him something more.

“Get back to work then,” Locus says. He pushes Wash’s head back down until his face touches the leather again. He turns his head to rub his cheek against it, eyes dropping closed. It should be humiliating, being down here, on his knees, face pressed against his roommate’s boots, but instead he can think of nothing more that he wants to do right now than drag his tongue against them.

His gaze flicks upwards for a second. Well, maybe one thing.

“Get them good and shiny,” Locus says. “I don’t accept half measures.” Imperious. He’s an intimidating man at the best of times, and like this, he towers over Wash, imposing and impossible to disobey. 

He sticks out his tongue again, laving the leather until it’s slick and his tongue has started to ache. He laps up along the side of the boot, tasting the cold metal of the eyelets. When he reaches the top of the boot, he pauses, looking towards Locus.

Locus peers down at him, his expression unreadable. “You’ve got a mouth made for this, Washington.”

Wash groans. Can’t help himself. Wants to rub up against him there and then until he can get off. He holds himself back, barely. There’s a twitch at the corner of Locus’ lips. He knows damn it, he knows exactly what effect he has. He’s got Wash utterly pegged. It would be embarrassing if it wasn’t so hot.

“I wonder what else that mouth is made for,” Locus adds. Wash swears that he can feel that voice, that it scrapes all the way down his spine. 

“I can show you,” he says, the words gasping out of him. It’s an offer and a promise and a plea all at once.

Locus’ tongue flicks out over his lips. Nervous, like he’d never really planned for things to go this far. Wash hadn’t either, but now he’s caught up in the moment. He sees the way Locus’ eyes widen, and he has to push. He has to find out how far this goes.

Instead of going back to the boots, he nuzzles his face against Locus’ leg, cheek pressed against his calf. His stomach swoops, does a weird little flip. His calves are solid and strong. Someone doesn’t skimp on leg day, and Wash’s mouth goes dry at the thought of having them wrapped around him. 

Locus is staring at him. He lets out a gasp when Wash moves upwards to nuzzle against the inside of his thigh. He’s wearing pants, but Wash already wants to run his tongue against every dip and rise of those muscles. He shifts forwards on his knees, until his face is pressed against the crease where leg meets hip, and it’s reassuring to know that he isn’t the only one with a raging hard on. 

Wash rests his chin against Locus’ thigh and meets his eyes. He’s not sure what he’s looking for; permission or encouragement or the moment when this weird bubble of space shatters and Locus laughs it off as joke and Wash has to go crawl into a pit. 

“Is that… acceptable for you?” Locus asks instead, and there’s just… concern. For him. 

Wash gives a lopsided smile. He’s certain it looks strained. “If I don’t get my mouth around your dick after this, I’m gonna be rock hard for a week.” And then, because Locus doesn’t reply for long enough that doubt starts to creep in, he continues. “Why, do you not…”

“No! I mean, yes. I would like that. Very much.”

He sounds so earnest. It's endearing, and it also quells the last of Wash's doubts. Locus wants him. At least here. At least now. He thinks he can live with that.

He leans in and mouths at the front of Locus' pants, feeling the shape of his cock underneath the material. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Locus grip the arm of the chair, and then, after a second, that hand comes to rest in Wash's hair again. It's gentle, but Wash doesn't want that right now. He butts his face forward, pressing his face right against Locus' groin. Locus takes the hint, and his petting hand tightens and forces him even further in, holding him firmly against the bulge of his dick. Wash groans, the sound muffled against the material. 

"Start showing me what you're good for then," Locus says, and that just makes Wash groan again. He pushes his tongue out and licks the outline of his cock, letting him feel the pressure and warmth while Wash imagines what it will be like to have it in his mouth. He's obviously large, thick too from the feel of it. Enough to fill his mouth when Locus finally fucks it. 

Close, he's so close! The cloth against his lips is damp, and Wash wants to taste more. He sucks at him through the material, hears a grunt from Locus when he does, and a hiss of indrawn breath. It’s still not enough. 

It’s only when the rough denim of Locus’ jeans is noticeably darkened by saliva that Locus drags him back. Wash looks up at him, panting, tongue running over his raw and reddened lips as he squirms, trying to get back to him. It’s only when Locus gives him a little shake that Wash finally stills.

Locus holds him there, and his free hand drops to the zip of his pants. When he pulls it down, the grating sound drags right down the length of Wash's body to pool heat in his groin. He can see the bulge of Locus' cock even more clearly now, and Locus isn't stopping there. He somehow manages to keep hold of Wash while sliding his jeans down over his hips, leaving them puddled around his calves. His underwear is black and looks silky; not at all what he would have expected from Locus but that's not even close to his main concern now. 

The hand leaves his hair and instead Locus grabs his chin firmly. “You’re drooling, Washington,” he says and he smears his thumb against Wash’s lips. “Like a bitch in heat.”

Fuck… fuckfuckfuck that should not be hot and it is and Wash can barely think and Locus is dragging this out forever. 

“Please,” he says. Whines. He can’t describe the noise that comes out of him any other way. He should be embarrassed, but he knows he’d do it again. Might do it right now if he has to.

“No hands,” Locus says. “Keep them where I can see them.”

He lets go of Wash’s chin and rests his hands on his knees, legs spread, waiting. He can do that. He can just wait for Wash to obey, and how has Locus got him so thoroughly figured out? Like he’s got a wire tap into the parts of his brain that are just lust and filthy thoughts.

Wash clasps his hands at the small of his back, making sure that Locus can see them, and he leans in again. He nuzzles against the front of Locus’ underwear, smelling musk and sweat. It’s still not enough. He tries to grab the band of Locus’ underwear in his teeth; it takes a few tries, and his face ends up mashed against his stomach, but that’s not exactly a hardship. Wash can feel the muscle there, the firm planes of his abs, and he rubs his nose against the line of dark hair across his belly as he drags Locus’ underwear down. Locus obligingly raises his hips and rolls the underwear down the last few inches until Wash has to let go of it. He slides it down over his thighs and calves, but Wash isn’t paying that much attention, not when faced with the glory that is Locus’ cock.

He really needs his mouth around it.

Locus has barely shoved his underwear down before Wash is on him, mouth all over that gorgeous dick. He just presses his lips against it, and sees Locus’ stomach muscles contract at that first touch of skin. Locus is already a good way to hardness, and his hips buck helplessly with the knowledge that Locus is into this as much as he is, that he’s not some pity case, or amusing diversion. He runs his lips against the length of Locus’ cock, feeling the texture, the warmth against him, until his nose is pressed against the dark thick curls at the base of it. He inhales, the scent that is purely Locus filling him, resting against the roof of his mouth.

He presses a kiss against the base, a reverent gesture, and then begins to lick his way up along to the very tip, like Locus is the world’s best ice lolly and it’s the hottest day of the year. Locus shifts around him, thighs clenching, cock slowly thickening and swelling, and that’s fucking hot too, that he’s having this effect on him. Wash keeps it up until he reaches the red tip of Locus’ dick. He curls his tongue around it, pressing against the slit, and then wraps his lips right around it and sucks.

Locus’s moan is music to his ears and heat to his cock. It’s an obscene sound, at least to his lust-addled brain, and that’s his mission now. He wants to hear it again and again. Right up until he gets to hear what Locus sounds like when he comes. 

It’s harder to do with his hands behind his back and aching, but he takes more of Locus into his mouth, and more, until his mouth is full and his throat clenches and he has to start breathing through his nose, and it’s perfect. And then he sucks. Hard as he can. He’s a fucking black hole, and Locus’ cock is not going to escape.

Somewhere above him he can hear Locus’ breath come harsher, but that might as well be the other side of the planet right now. All Wash cares about is the flesh in his mouth, the pulse of the vein against his tongue, the way Locus’ dick swells as he works it, until his jaw begins to ache and he has to suck harder just to keep from choking. 

He wouldn’t mind if he did choke, just a bit, but that’s weird to ask on a first… date? Fuck? Whatever this is.

There’s a touch against his shoulder, and he turns his gaze upwards so he can see Locus gazing down at him. His eyes are very dark, lips shiny with spit. He opens his mouth, like he’s going to say something, and Wash draws back just enough to lave his attention on the tip of Locus’ cock. The reaction is worth it. Locus’ eyes drop closed, cheeks flushing, cock twitching at the attention. And the noise? Of fuck, Wash swears he could get off to the sound of Locus’ moaning on its own.

It seems to have driven words out of Locus’ head anyway, which is just fine with Wash. He fucks his mouth onto Locus’ cock until he feels the tip touch the back of his throat, keeps himself there, on the edge as he works Locus over, alternating sucks and licks until the noises Locus makes are a near constant hum above him.

Fuck, he wishes they’d done this sooner. How many times could he have been on his knees like this by now?

He feels the tension in Locus’ belly, in the way his cock twitches and renews his efforts. Twice as hard, twice as fast, the taste of slick starting to fill his mouth. Locus’ fingers squeeze his shoulder but he ignores it. He’s so close, he can feel it, needs to have this.

Locus comes with a sound halfway between a scream and a growl that is going to haunt Wash’s dreams for the rest of his life. He fills Wash’s mouth with come, and Wash swallows down what he can, lets the rest dribble out of the sides of his mouth. He’s already a bitch in heat, might as well play it up.

When the trembles through Locus’ body subside, he’s dragged off by a hand in his hair again, and he looks up at Locus. He can’t help the smug expression when he gets a good look at the other man. He looks well fucked, disheveled. Job well done.

“Are-“ Locus clears his throat, turns his head aside for a second to regain his composure, and when he looks back at Wash he’s covered up the cracks. “Are you alright?”

“Fuck yes,” Wash says. 

Locus regards him sternly, and then lets go of him. He turns to the side table and grabs a tissue which he holds out. “Clean yourself up.”

Wash takes it and uses it to wipe the last of the come from around his mouth and chin, never looking away from Locus. Waiting. He’s not sure what for except that his stomach is knotted now, anticipation, expectation. It’s… weird.

Whatever it is, Locus must pick up on it somehow. He’s there in a second, hand cradling Wash’s jaw, thumb stroking gentle against his skin. “You did a good job,” Locus says. “I’m very pleased.” And then he leans in to kiss Wash, a careful press of his lips that knocks him for a loop and makes his heart pound.

What the hell? Words like that shouldn’t have this sort of effect. They’re just words. But they settle that feeling in his belly, make a raging thing inside him calm. He lets out a slow breath and leans into the hand, letting whatever magic Locus is performing soothe him.

“Are you alright to continue?” Locus asks. His voice has dropped out of that commanding tone, so it’s just concern and care. 

The question takes a second to process, but Wash nods. “Yeah. Please.”

“Like… this?” Locus says. “Or, I could just return the favour if you’d prefer?”

Like this? With Locus above him, telling him what to do? While the appeal of Locus giving him a blow job is not to be understated, he isn’t quite ready to give up this bubble they’ve built. Not just yet.

“Like this,” Wash says. “Please.”

Locus ducks his head, smiles. “Very well.”

He straightens up, the hand leaving Wash’s face as he sits back in the chair, and stretches out his legs to bracket Wash. Then one booted foot comes to rest between Wash’s legs, pressing against his aching erection.

Wash’s throat goes dry, and his eyes widen as he looks at Locus, breath dancing on the tip of his tongue. Locus pulls his underwear back up and tucks his cock in, follows that with his jeans until he’s covered up and you’d never be able to tell if you didn’t know what had happened.

“Are you hard?” Locus asks finally. He sounds… lazy. Hungry. Like a predator. 

Wash nods. The foot against his cock presses a fraction harder. 

“I expect an answer,” Locus says.

“Y-yes,” Wash manages to get out. “I’m hard.”

Really fucking hard, and without something to occupy his attention. He resists the urge to rub up against Locus’ foot, but it’s a close thing.

“Do you think you should get to come?” Locus asks.

That’s a stupid question. Of course he should get to come. Except when Wash thinks about it, there’s a shiver runs through him at the thought that getting off might not actually be a sure thing. That Locus might not let him come. Add that one to the pile of kinks Wash had never considered before but will now fill his brain for eternity.

“Yes?” he says, but he has no idea if that’s the right answer. He doesn’t know what Locus would do if he said no. But he is hard. He aches, and he can feel the sticky patch at the front of his underwear. Locus doesn’t respond right away. He looks Wash up and down, and Wash wonders what exactly he’s looking for, what he sees. 

“Show me,” Locus says. Commands. Fuck. “Pants off.”

Wash hurries to comply. He doesn’t think he’s unfastened his jeans so quickly in his entire life. He shoves them down, underwear with them, and kicks them off, then tosses them out of the way. Doesn’t bother to check where they land. Doesn’t care.

He goes to wrap a hand around his dick, but a noise from Locus stops him before he can touch himself.

“Did I say you could you use hands?” 

Wash stares at him, his mind blank with confusion and arousal. What is he supposed to do then?

The toe of Locus’ boot nudges against him again, brushing against his balls and- oh. Oh fuck. Locus jerks his head, a ‘go on’ gesture.

Wash’s gaze drops towards the boot, the leather that he’s already had his mouth all over. The boots that he sees every day by the door and finds comfort in. 

He feels the edge of a sob in his lungs when he finally rubs his sore prick against the leather. Right now, it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, the smooth leather against his dick, the rough scratch of the laces, and Locus watching him.

He ruts against the boot, a dog desperate for release. His head falls against Locus’ knee, lips pressed against his jeans, open mouthed kisses against the fabric as he rocks and fucks himself towards climax. Locus twists his foot, helping him along, giving him a new angle to play with, a little more pressure than he can manage himself. Fingers tangle in his hair, pulling and twisting until he feels electricity down his spine.

It doesn’t take long, he doesn’t draw it out. He’s too far gone to delay his pleasure any longer. He comes hard, spending himself against the leather with an animal cry, hips jerking helplessly. Locus keeps hold of him through it. That’s something that stays in his mind even as the world whites out: Locus’ hands stay on him.

They’re still there when he can breathe again, when he scrapes his shattered thoughts back together and gasps back to life. Locus gathers him up, drags him onto his lap, tucked firmly against his chest. Lips press against the top of his head. He feels cocooned in warmth. In safety. 

“You are amazing, Washington,” Locus murmurs, and all Wash can manage in return is a dull-witted groan of mingled confusion and pleasure. Feels good, that praise. Not used to it.

Locus laughs, and the vibrations rumble right through Wash’s body. He tries to speak, has to try a few times before his tongue cooperates. “That was fucking great.” 

“It was indeed,” Locus agrees. 

Wash feels the world tilt, and realises he’s being scooped up and carried. Should be embarrassing. Really can’t bring himself to care. 

“We need a shower,” Locus explains when Wash gives a token noise of protest.

Right. He is… sticky. Sweaty. Kind of gross. He’d forgotten this bit of having sex. “Yeah,” he agrees. And then the reality of what’s happened comes back to him. “Oh fuck, I- I- on your boot…”

Locus probably hadn’t intended that. Probably isn’t happy when he keeps his boots so pristine and then Wash comes all over them and-

“Hm? It’s not a problem,” Locus says. He sounds like he means it. “They can always be cleaned.”

“I could help with that,” Wash says, the words blurting out before he thinks about what he’s saying. He buries his face against Locus’ chest so he doesn’t have to see Locus’ expression. It’s much easier to let his thoughts get too loud when he’s not too horny to think.

“You could indeed,” Locus agrees. There’s another press of lips against Wash’s hair. “I’d like that.”

He’d like that. He’d like that? Wash glances up at him. “You would?”

Locus’ cheeks are flushed. “I would. I’d like more than that. There is another film on tonight, if you’d like to join me?”

Another fil- What the fuck?

“Oh my god,” Wash says and bangs his head against Locus’ shoulder. “You were asking me out.” All those times when Locus asked him to an event, or a film, or to get lunch and it was-

Locus clears his throat. “I was trying to.”

“I am the biggest idiot,” Wash groans. 

“Not the biggest. And I admit, I can’t regret how things turned out.”

“It was pretty good,” Wash says, hoping that his current state of ‘thoroughly fucked and spent mess’ conveys how good it was better than his words. “I can’t believe I didn’t realise. I could’ve been going down on you for weeks!”

Locus’ grip tightens around him. “Well, we have time now, I suppose. If you want to.”

“I want to,” Wash replies vehemently. “I really want to.”

They reach the bathroom and Locus finally sets him down. He wraps a towel around Wash’s shoulders and then switches on the shower, waiting for it to heat up. 

Wash perches on the toilet lid, watching him. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Do what?” Locus’ expression pinches between his eyes.

He waves a hand vaguely. “That thing. With the voice and commanding aura that makes me want to let you debauch me in about a million filthy ways.” 

Okay, maybe his brain to mouth filter is not quite working again yet.

Locus leans against the wall, but close enough that he can reach out and stroke Wash’s hair. The touch is grounding. He appreciates that. “I was military too remember.”

“Yeah, but- that was different.” He definitely hadn’t gone the same route as Wash. And he hadn’t turned that leftover training into violence. 

Locus is silent for a good few moments. Wash doesn’t interrupt. He knows what it’s like to need to choose your words carefully. When he does speak, it’s in a measured tone, but flat, distancing himself from the words.

“When I was discharged, I realised that I had skills and I could be very… dangerous, if I wanted to be. Things could have gone badly. They nearly did. But I-“ Wash watches the way that his face contorts into an expression of distaste, near disgust for a self that didn’t exist anymore. “I did not like who I was becoming, so I found a different outlet.”

And that outlet was… well…

“I can’t say I’m sad about that,” Wash says finally. “I kind of liked being your outlet.”

Locus stares at him, and then snorts, a smile curling his lips. He curls his hand around the back of Wash’s neck and draws him in for a kiss. A deep one this time, lips and tongue pressed between them, sharing the moment.

“I kind of liked it too.”

Steam has started to fill the room and Locus begins to shed his clothing. “We’d better hurry up. The film begins at 8.”

“Assuming we don’t get distracted cleaning your boots again,” Wash says. And he wouldn’t mind that at all.


End file.
